


Blue Dandelion

by moonfox281



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Dick is BPD Detective, F/M, Family Issues, Hate to Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Investigations, M/M, Other, Slow Burn, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29556195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfox281/pseuds/moonfox281
Summary: Ten years wasn't long enough to forget someone, neither was it short enough to forgive them. Yet, it was still enough to taste the past and hope for a future.Summary: Dick Grayson left Gotham after Bruce fired him, leaving behind everything he loved, and everyone who had loved him. A decade later, he decided to come back.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 14
Kudos: 95





	Blue Dandelion

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [nerd-by-definition](https://nerd-by-definition.tumblr.com/) for the prompt and big support so far!  
> I would like to give appreciation and love to [apthctx](https://apthctx.tumblr.com/) for very thoroughly and helpfully making this fic readable!

“I’m not asking,” he said.

One would start asking what sort of particular event had led Jason’s life to be this way. Him dying? Nah, not a chance. Him dying and coming back as the Red Hood, slaying half of the rogue population and giving Gotham living standard an upgrade? Probably. Or not. Maybe it was his nature to be this demanding, controlling in every aspect of life that it would probably drive him nuts if he woke up in the morning and found out there was a crease on one of his dress shirts. This man. Bruce Wayne. Billion-fucking-air. Bat-fucking-man. 

And this was how he asked Jason to join the Wayne annual New Year gala night, capitalism style of celebration. One hundred people with eight digits in their Swiss account gathered in one place, not watching the ball drop, but watching blood of cities run to them, water their banks, grow their mansions, nurture their egotism. 

And speaking of egotism, no, Bruce wasn’t even fucking asking. He slapped the demand at Jason’s face in that goddamn cowl of the night, 20 pounds of cape flowing in the wind and shit, and just magically assumed Jason would follow like some kind of Shepherd dog. 

And he was supposed to be the smart one.

“Cobblebot will be there.”

Oh, now they were talking.

And that was it. That was how it rolled. A week later and Jason found himself standing on the outskirt of a stuffled ball room, gold chandelier and shit, choking in an Italian suit, Oxford shoes, Patek Phillip watch and a fucking tie, shits he kept all the way at the bottom of his wardrobe because normally, he went for tactical, not fucking formal. And normally, in his circle of society and acquaintance, any fine lady with a dress cut hip high definitely sported a dagger somewhere on the other thigh, waiting to cut someone’s throat open and stuff their balls in it.

He would rather die and pretend it was Bruce’s plotting that got him where he was at this very fucking moment, rather than admitting that the man sure as hell knew he really wanted like the back of his hand. Sure it wasn’t as clear as daylight that after the Joker, Blackmask, the vast majority of drug cartels in Gotham, it was the Penguin next on the Red Hood’s list. And if it was that clear, it sure felt nice thinking Cobblepot thought about him when churning at night.

“At least the booze is nice.” 

Jason looked down his shoulder, literally, and saw a blond head standing by his side.

“And what are you doing here?”

“Same as you, tolerating.” 

Stephanie, Spoiler, or whatever she was going as these days. Even out of the suit, purple was still her color. 

“Nice dress, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that, because that was one shit eating grin on her face right now. 

“You like it? It’s Versace; I got it from Bruce’s pocket.” Oh, she definitely did. “My shiny Versace and Cartier necklace, all the price to get me to this party.” She then looked at him. “Did he pay for your dandy human skin too?”

“You think?”

“Damn, controlling the underworld must be shitting you bricks.”

It was nice to have another poor fellow Gothamite like Stephanie to share hate with, but Jason would never admit that. 

“I heard he got you here because of Cobblebot.”

“And where exactly did you hear that from?”

She snorted. “It’s a small circle, Big Guy. Words travel, even when Bruce likes to think he has secrets on top of his game.” She tore her eyes off the moving crowd and looked up at him. “You know he’s not letting you get Penguin tonight.”

Fuck no, like hell he would. But the point wasn’t ever spying on Cobblepot, it was breathing down his neck through all his ties and strings. A Wayne Gala night was a perfect place. Bruce thought he knew him, and yeah, maybe he did, but he didn’t know him that well. If he did, Jason wouldn’t have been blown up in a warehouse in the first place.

“Oh shit.”

She dropped her flute which Jason thankfully caught with the tip of his shoe. “Hey hey, watch it.”

“No, you watch it!”

And Jason did. His eyes followed hers and were led to the door of the ballroom. ‘Oh shit’ indeed. 

“Un-fucking-believable.” Steph laughed.

And Jason… he stood dead on his feet, rooted to the floor. 

It was somewhat similar to hunting the sunset in the last seconds right before the prime of a rush hours. The sky changed its skin, time froze, and clouds colored. And no matter how busy you were with whatever ahead, or how disinterested you were before, you stopped at the horizon of the dawn, the new age. For one curt second, or maybe one dragged moment, you halted, looked up, and admired the beauty, the unattainable canvas of nature. 

_He_ was that unattainable canvas of nature. People knew it. He probably knew it too. Why wouldn’t he when the crowd parted for every one of his steps, when heads turned for every one of his angles. He was a walking exhibition, born to be seen, lived to be admired. 

The last time Jason saw him, his cheeks were still swollen with baby fat. Ears pierced, hair shoulder long, and a big fucking smile on crimson lips. He was spot on like one of those One Direction boys. 

There was little of that boy left in this man though. His hair now merely hovered above his neck, a nice shade of raven feathers. It was the ocean when at night, with wind churching, starless sky, waves and waves coiling to the shore, baring white foams and the color of ebony. When he stopped on his feet, locks and curls fell off his forehead, his ears, down to his eyes, and he blinked, shut those framed lashes, shielded away those deadly eyes. 

Attired in only a waistcoat and a watch, he probably only worth a million among those billies, but damn, he looked a trillion. Attention rotated around him, in the lit room of gold lights, marble floor, he was the only beacon every eye was heading for.

Time was cruel, but to this man, to Dick Grayson, it was a condiment. He was fine wine, sitting in the dark for long, flavored by time, adorned by mysteries. Not to be drunk, but to be tasted.

“Look at him.” 

Who wasn’t already? Jason would do anything to tear his eyes away so Steph wouldn’t see how he pined after that man, their familiar stranger. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Not when everyone was looking at him too. Not when he had thought he had looked at Jason too, even for only a split second.

And there was anger, spite flaring in flames when Jason realized, he had really looked over at him, and moved on. 

He was gravity when Jason was nothing but thin air.

“Why is he here?” He grunted.

“Pfft, you ask Bruce. I’m just gonna enjoy the sight first. I’ve heard about him all my life and this is the real deal for the first time.”

For Jason, it didn’t feel less than a first time too. He knew this face, his name, how he used to look down on Jason. And that was it. 

Ten years ago he didn't know this man, and now, he still doesn’t. 

Back then, now, Dick Grayson took the air whenever he went, all the way to Bruce. Talk. Just.fucking.talk. And everything went back to normal. 

It was no fucking news that the only reason that got Dick fucking Grayson out from under the cave was Bruce fucking Wayne himself… Okay, maybe Barbara too, consider how those two swiftly exchanged eye contacts when Dick crossed to Bruce’s side of the crowd. Nobody had ever slapped a label over them, but for a time, they were a thing, Dick and Babs. Everybody knew it, the whole fucking city knew it, Robin and Batgirl, the lovebirds at dawn of crime. Jason wasn’t around at the time, but oh, he got the gist when stepping into Dick’s shoes. 

“You’re staring.” Huffed Steph as she hid her smile behind another champagne flute. She’s Gotham’s wild child, just like Jason, God knew her alcohol tolerance could puncture the ceiling.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Yeah, but my staring was distracted by your staring, Mr. Big Bad Red Riding Hood. I thought you didn't swing that way,” she retorted, shoulders dropping when meeting his smirk. “No fucking way. Get out of here, you don’t get to nail the dudes too, not with that face. And I know you, you’re definitely gonna be the nailing one.”

“I don’t confirm anything.”

“But you don’t deny anything either; that’s confirmation to me.”

Speaking to her was exhausting, it felt like dealing with a child neighbor climbing your fences with dirty boots. He didn’t hate her, he just didn’t like talking like this.

“Well, go on. Draw a cig, play your charm. Half the people here already want to get into your pants anyway,” she mocked as Jason took a smoke and blew. He needed nicotine to keep up with this woman. “He’s not easy though.”

He took another drag. “Who?”

“Whoever you’re pretending not to stare at. Must I play Sherlock here? Does he even know us?”

“He doesn’t know you.”

“But he knows you.”

“Knew.”

“Right, who would have thought you’d die and come back a smoking zombie.”

“Please don’t say I’m smoking again.”

“That’s a compliment. You gotta be at least smoking to go up against someone flaming like that… Oh shit, he’s looking this way.”

Jason didn’t want to act excited, not when that man had intentionally ignored him earlier. But his body moved on its own. His back straightened off the wall and he was steady on both feet when Dick approached him and Steph.

“You’re Jason, right?”

What was right and wrong? Why was it even a question? Simply by the short silence, Dick knew immediately what was going through Jason’s head.

“Sorry. It’s been a while, and you look...different.”

“Different?”

“Well, taller for sure.” Dick laughed. “Look at you. I must be honest, I wouldn’t have recognized you if Bruce didn’t tip me. How much time has changed.”

“Or maybe it’s just you who has gone away for too long.”

For a moment, that pretty face froze, even that damn smile. But it was only for a moment, hardly even a second. He clicked back in place fast enough. Jason could tell, he could just tell, no matter how confusing things could be on splayed on that well-sculpted face.

“Guess I’ve missed out a lot, huh? This beautiful lady must be your plus one for tonight. Miss...”

“Stephanie. And no, I’m not his plus one. We’re lucky to even have him over tonight,” talked Steph as she secretly hammered her elbow on Jason’s ribs in excitement.

“Are you? Well, you haven’t changed at all, Littlewing.”

That breached Jason’s control. He snapped, not technically, but enough to physically wring himself out of the conversation and just leave before his fist did something stupid. Leaving was an exaggeration since Copplepot was still here, so his only option for a good tantrum-throwing was striding toward the dancing floor.

Not even two minutes in and Dick Grayson managed to remind Jason every reason why he had hated him. Had. Shocker, Jason just realized another thing. 

He still hated him.

Ten years ago, when Jason first saw that so-called Greek god of a man storming into Bruce’s cave like it was his home, he already knew this man would be nothing but trouble. Turned out it really was his home, both the Cave and the Manor. Neither Bruce or Dick needed to say it out loud, but it was crystal clear in his behavior, how he knew exactly where to park his motorbike to avoid the Batmobile driveway, how he knew exactly how to get Bruce’s attention by twirling his chair away from the Batcomputer, something Jason never had the guts to even dream about, or how he got Alfred to use the D word to address him. Shits like that told it all off, it told he wasn’t just somebody who lived there for a time or two. He fucking owned it. 

He hardly ever came over for a normal chat, not that he was ever coming over often, but whenever he was, boy, it was a one way screaming match. The only thing that was more mind-blowing was that Bruce let him scream at him. Not to mention, it would take way more than just a crowbar to the head to forget the malice he gave him each time Jason appeared in the Robin suit. And Bruce, the ever living shit he was, never held back from calling him Robin even with Dick fuming to flame. 

So yeah, that was the whole gist of it. It appeared Grayson never came back the whole time during Jason’s death, and even post his resurrection. Jason had to admit, this was one hell of a reunion. 

“May I?”

Oh, for fuck's sake.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” Or anyone else to fuck with. One hundred fucking people here, eager for his attention, and Dick Grayson just had to choose him.

“A dance wouldn’t hurt, don’t you think?”

“And you chose me because...”

Dick chuckled then got himself close enough to blow straight into Jason’s ear. Fucker, he still got the move. Jason didn’t even manage to blink. 

“Help me out a little. Everybody else wants to eat me alive.”

“Don’t be so naive. I’m not your white knight.”

“You aren’t. But I’d rather run with the wolves than sit with an armed shepherd.”

He waited not for Jason to react and pulled him to the middle of the floor. He twirled everything at lightspeed. It was hard to say no, was hard to refuse, was very hard to not follow after. 

He had one hand over Jason’s hip, the other on his shoulder, and just like that he had him immobilized like a log. There were a lot of things Jason thought he could do after digging himself out of his own grave, but apparently, winning over Dick Grayson’s pace of moving things around as his own liking was still pretty much off the book. 

By the time he hooked Jason’s hand up and on the narrow side of waist, he officially cut all air off his chest.

“I hope you’ve learnt to dance.” Back in the days when he was still around, not a lot, but at least not just a myth like these days, Jason could hardly get his feet to work with these billie folks’ fancy waltz. He remembered he quit trying after he had imprinted his soles on Alfred’s Oxfords. 

But that was the old him, the old him that was still just a heedless prick that in the end had got himself killed. 

He strode his leg left and far, taking Dick along. There was an obvious difference in their sizes, and Jason took it to his own accord. He led their moves, controlled the pace, set the tempo. He was putting his full-on out and enjoyed the heck out of every damn second he got over Prince Charming here.

“You’re fierce tonight.”

“You’re starting to turn into a sitcom.”

“I’m being honest.” Dick quirked a brow to punctuate. Jason had to admit, his heart stopped a moment there when that thick dark brow went up and down just above those sparkling eyes. The chandeliers were doing their neat trick of reflecting against those gemstones, because Jason swore he could see his reflection in them. 

Look at this guy; Everybody could tell he won a damn genetic lottery. 

“Why are you here?”

“Am I not allowed to be here?”

“After you ghosted everyone out? Pretty much.”

They took a dip and pulled up, just in time for Dick to look aside and slightly bite his lower lip. Bet he had made pants drop with that move. 

“I guess there’s no suitable explanation for that.”

“Just figured that out?”

“What happened happened, Jay. I don’t like that sound of it as much as you do⎼”

“Oh, you don’t?”

“I mean it. When I left, I left with reasons. You think it was easy packing up leaving behind a father figure and someone you’ve spent your entire childhood seeing as a grandfather? My time being a child was short, but it still had its notable impact when I took off.”

“Let’s be real, shall we?” Jason twirled him around and had his hand back on his waist. “I don’t give a fuck. And from my imagination, you don’t give a fuck either, since you and I never fucking liked each other. So cut the crap. If you’re here to decide to end world hunger like some sort of Christ only to be impaled on a cross out on the open, be my guest, it’s not my business. But in case you’ve been living under a rock, Batsy and I don’t technically go hand in hand these days. And I don’t imagine you came back to this God-forsaken town to gang up with the baddies and play a solo rebel game. So, do what you do, take a tour around, go to the museums or something, but stay out of my shit, or it won’t end pretty for that pretty face.”

Dick chuckled, but his nose angled down so his eyes stuck to the floor. Jason took it as a consideration. 

“That’s not true,” he said after a moment.

“What?”

“You said I don’t care. I do...just, not enough. But I can fix it. I can fix it now.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake⎼”

“Jason, a lead of mine has navigated me back to this city. I came back here knowing it’s not going to be easy on all of us, but this is people’s lives we’re dealing with. Hundreds of lives.”

“ _You_ are.”

“What?”

“It’s people’s lives you’re dealing with. Not _we_. There is no _we_ . There hasn’t been a _we_ since the very beginning.”

Dick had his way of telling people how he wasn’t pleased without wording. He just had his way, like angling his gaze up and smothering things off a little bit with a smirk, just enough to show he wasn’t happy, but wasn’t straight up angry. 

Dick still had his game up; it was like he never left. Back in the day, he was the most prized boy of the city, a topnotch underdog with a colorful background, an angel face, and filthily filled pockets. People from all over the place were coming to him like flies to honey, and Dick played them well. He played them too well. To the press, while Bruce was a show boy and scandal-maker, Dick was so clean you could wipe a table with him.

“Do you know why I came back, after all this time?”

“Didn’t I start that question first?”

Dick hummed. He had a kind of smile on his lips that told nothing good. “I came to Bludhaven when I left this city. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but it’s not Gotham. The thing is, Bludhaven made a significant amount of its income from tourism, gaming and conventions. Do you know what that means?”

“Just cut the crap.”

“It means lots of people coming in and out. Lots of laundering, lots drugs consuming, which is normal, the regulation there technically supports all recreational acts of consumption under restrictions. And, there are restrictions. Last week, seven tourists were taken in testing out a new kind of substance that somehow notoriously entered the market. Five didn’t make it and the other two are in fatal conditions. And, yesterday, three more came in with the same symptoms, same blood test results. The BPD traced out the logistic trace between Gotham and Bludhaven. Now, think. Two big cities, one for drug makers and one for drug consumers. I don’t need to be a genius to connect the dots, do I?”

“Do you?”

“Not when twenty percent of Gotham homemade narcotic goes straight to Bludhaven’s highway.”

Twenty-five percent to be exact, but Jason wouldn't point it out. They were talking about seven million hardcore a day there.

“So? What does all of that have to do with me?”

“A little bird told me you’re the new Gotham Kingpin now.”

Bird his ass, it was the damn Bat. This must be their game like the good old days. The dynamic duo must be kicking off, plotting behind Jason’s back. 

“You think I have something on this.”

“Well, do you?”

“Well, do I?” Jason smirked. “You’re supposed to be the detective here.”

“Whether it’s you or not, it’s on you now.”

Jason bawled out a laughter. “Nice, dump it all on me. You got Bruce in you, like it or not.”

“Isn’t it true? You’re the big guy here, you control the guns, the eyes, the market. You monopolized it, physically. So now when something happens, all eyes are on you. That’s the thing about power, you’ll always be on the front line. The BPD believes it’s you, and trust me, Bruce believes it’s you too. It’s only a matter of time before it’s the DEA breathing down on you.”

“Is that a threat, Grayson?”

“It’s a warning.”

“Doesn’t sound like one.”

“Trust me.”

“Oh, how?” Jason snorted.

“I am BPD Detective.”

Jason stared at him, just stared at him. He wasn’t quite sure what exact event had led the both of them to this moment, but while he halted their waltz, rooted there on the floor, Dick’s eyes turned from heaven to the Challenger Deep.

“Well hello there, pig.” When Dick rolled his eyes, Jason finally took it seriously. “Fine, but it still doesn't mean I can trust you.”

“Listen, stop being immature. We work better when together. And I know you’re not behind those deaths, at least not directly. So you help me out on this, and I cut the BPD, DEA, and Bruce off your tail.”

Jason laughed. “Nice talk, but what makes you think I fear Bruce and the DEA, or your little boy band BPD to add on? Do the math. Jason Todd is a wanted man, yet here I am, waltzing with Bruce Wayne’s boy in one of his biggest parties of the year. So what are the odds, huh? This world needs me as much as it despises me, Dickieboy.”

Dick rolled his eyes. Jason hated it. He made whatever smartass comebacks Jason came with, sound stupid. And Jason hated that he made him feel this way.

“That is, until now. People are dying, Jason. And it’s on you now. If it’s only one or three, fine, but the number is rising and you’re just too open to dodge that bullet, aren’t you? Sooner or later, some fingers are gonna wag, and some heads are gonna shake. Oh, I don’t think you fear the authorities, you have nothing to fear them, but you can fear whom they’re gonna turn their hands to shake with next after they’re tired of you. You’ve made local gangs and other merchandise quite miserable lately, taking up a good share of them. What do you think would happen if people with the flag come to make a deal with them?”

“Oh, you boys are good at that, huh? You love a good handshake.”

“Yeah, be it the devil, everything for the greater good. Everybody will turn on you, Jason. You’ll lose your reputation, the respect, the fear, and follow that, you’re gonna lose your land, your market, and you’ll come back being just a petty wanted criminal with a prize too good for the blue gang to shake their belt.”

“That’s some bold theories you’ve made there, Detective. But I’m a bad man, a very bad man, I get blamed for lots of things I didn’t commit. So what makes you think they’re gonna take this time seriously?”

“They will. Oh, they will when there are bodies. It’s always better to look for someone to blame. It’s been mutually beneficial thus far: you sweep the floor and control crime, and the big men in big buildings just have to watch over you instead of the two digit number of shadowed organizations. But like I’ve said, there are bodies now. They’ll need someone to take the blame, and who else would be more perfect for that than the man the BPD comes to themselves?”

It wouldn’t have been anything special if that look on his face didn’t gleam a hint of pity. Just a hint, and Jason, the street rat that grew to be a predator from playing the prey, tasted it, recognized it, and spat on it. 

He turned around, round and round, and realized all eyes were on them. He had originally thought they were on Dick, as always, but no, they were on _them_. Judgemental faces, plotting glances, old men, big names. 

“Bruce has a lot of powerful friends. It shouldn’t be a surprise some of them work in the blue line and joined tonight's party.”

The dance. Fuck, Jason walked right into his trap. 

Jason so far had made his name very clear by owning everything Black Mask left behind. People believed Red Hood was Jason Todd’s bitch. The authorities let it slide since Batman let it slide, and since no significant civilian was harmed, nobody wanted to get caught in the crossfire of the underworld hierarchy war.

Until now.

“This is quite a long dance with the BPD, don’t you think?”

“You little⎼” Cool it cool it cool it cool it. “This is you, huh? The true you. Every-fucking-body praises Nightwing like you’re living Christ, but you show your true colors when trying to get what you want. Trying to play it cool after ten years and sweet talk me about the good old days, and when that didn’t work, you fucking stab me. I’ll say it for the Bat, he’s fucking proud.”

This was Jason’s retaliation: Bruce. Be it his name or the Bat, it was a fucking pain in the ass, or the ear, to even just listen to. He was Jason’s personal tantrum target. And he initially believed he could insult butloads of people by simply comparing them to that man. 

But not Dick Grayson. God fucking damn it, Jason had tried. Tried. So many times tonight he tried it, but each bullet he fired seemed to only make Dick Grayson more invincible. 

Jason laughed again, but this time, he was laughing at himself. Twirling Dick back to the edge of the room, he couldn’t help but whisper down his ear before letting go of him. 

“You know the only difference between us cops and criminals?”

“What?”

“The fucking badge.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me at [here](http://moonfox281.tumblr.com/) . I take prompt and draw stupid stuff as well, so if you want to make friends or have something to ask, be my guest. Have a lovely day!


End file.
